


Narcotic Sweet

by MissLouder



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drug Use, Friendship, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 14:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21037982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLouder/pseuds/MissLouder
Summary: Yamato has his vice, only Taichi can help him.





	Narcotic Sweet

** _Narcotic Sweet_ **

** _._ **

** _._ **

** _._ **

**I**t's a gust of speed that passes before your eyes, soaked in sweat and anxiety, with a ball that is dragged by the intensity of its feet. You see it from a secluded bank, where the crowd has failed to congregate. It’s early, the sun still doesn’t sweep the streets and only few fans defy sleep to watch that game.

Autumn becomes present with the chills and vapors that slide out of the mouths that cheers. Despite that, Taichi still looks like a mixture of dawn, between that green sheet of artificial grass. t's the center and the audience lights up standing up when it's finally the one who gives the pass for the decisive goal. At that distance, you can see him scream in excitement and jump on one foot, opening a small smile on your lips.

_That bright happiness that is sometimes so blinding,_ you think.

You are a figure that is trimmed into a patch of shadow, vaguely aware that you have caught the attention of some people who look at you sideways, wondering who you are and why you turn away from everyone as if they were pests. They try to give you identification under your black hood, but you don't leave the easy job by immersing yourself more in it. Hiding the face behind strips of smoke that whispers the cigar that curls on your finger, weaving a cobweb of blue smoke around your profile. You dress in mourning, bathed by that color from head to toe; black shirt, pants with many pockets, assault boots and a hand wrapped in the jacket pocket.

The team begins to disperse and many people descend from the stands to congratulate them on their victory. On your side, you don't have to, you wait patiently smoking with abandonment. You rest your elbows on the stands that are your support on your back, and you keep your eyes fixed on Taichi’s figure. You hold the smoke inside your throat and let it warm, to the point of suffocation, before letting it out in a sigh as dim as the breeze.

You take out the cell phone, ignore the messages, and you watch the time that pops up on the screen. It’s too early for your taste, and you should be asleep by now. However, you are there, in that stadium on your own when the dream eluded you and you had nothing to do to call him.

Taichi didn’t mention the game, you heard it from Takeru who was talking to Hikari on the phone. You don’t care that they don’t know you’re there, in the shadows, watching the former group of chosen children hug each other. You’re not there to be watched, you’re there to see Taichi.

Get up with parsimony, you trample the cigar turning off that dim amber light and you leave. Your ear catches the occasional comment, pointing you out, but they can't identify you yet. Some, however, yes. Not because of your fame, but because of your relationship with Taichi. Or, what's left of it, really.

"What are you doing here?", a voice behind your back catchesyour attention and return the gaze of ice on your shoulder.

A small figure wearing the local team’s uniform, gasping slightly. The young man behind you has become your nemesis. Hate is shared and they don't bother to hide it.

"I don't have to answer anything," you say, frowning and then continue on your way.

"Don’t you understand that you are like a stain on his life?", Daisuke’s words are like knives, but the blade is not enough for you. Not anymore.

You don’t say anything, you keep walking around with your hands in your pockets wishing you could unload some of your anger on that goofy face. If Daisuke weren't your friend of your friend, if you didn't want to make matters worse; you would have hit him.

Already have a lot of content about that kid, and your patience is on the edge.

_One more, and I’ll make you cry_, you swore.

The morning begins to heat the balcony when you arrive at the apartment, you kick a few cans of beer that are lying on the floor and ignore the mess that has been decorating it for days. You arrived a couple of days ago on tour and exhaustion makes you shun your chores.

Maybe you call a cleaning service, you still have the number your manager gave you and you left it somewhere in the kitchen where the dishes overflow. The sink is invaded by dust that, if you pass the finger, you will trace a path over the slab. You have so much time that you don’t use the kitchen, because your taste for cooking has vanished. It’s no longer something you spend time with.

You did it before, by trade and duty, when you were cooking for two people. For you and your father, even if he didn’t come at times. Today, actually, you know it won’t come. The grief takes hold of your spirit, once again, which leads to you cursing in silence.

A meal for one person is only a feverish affirmation of the facts, even though you have done so innumerably in the past. Now it has a meaning, because it's permanent.

If you’d known he was sick the whole time, if you’d known that October morning would be the last time you’d see him alive...

A heart attack.

That erased the life of a father who lived his work more than his home. The call you received that day had changed your life forever. Even if you managed to stretch your memory to try to remember, until your head hurt in the effort, you could only attract to the present the words: _Sorry, we got your father dead in his office. It was a heart attack._

The rest was an incentive that reaches to obscure your nightmares. Your mother had come to the funeral, she cried for Hiroashi, Takeru too. Very contrary to you, that you could not tempt the tears. Doing so meant admitting that reality. You still have the hope that your father is at the station and arrives at an hour where you already sleep. He leaves when you haven’t woken up.

You were in shock the whole time, sitting in front of his ashes with Tai holding your hand and you don't feel his heat. Even when you fell asleep on his legs, you wake up thinking it was all a game of the mind. No, it’s reality. You hardly heard the voices of condolence and lament. The press wanted to enter and the fans dedicated you a duel, which you don’t feel. Not while Hiroashi was still alive in your head.

"Dad ...", you groan and there are no tears. Just a curling knot that steals your breath and speech.

Taichi hurriedly hugged you, hiding in his chest as if he protected you from everything. He whispered that everything would be fine, that it was by your side, that you weren't alone ... and everything was said with tears on his face. You hear your mom calling you, touching your shoulder and you see her, with eyes lost, as if she were a stranger. Who is that woman for you? Is she really your mother? _What would become of you now that you are totally alone?_

Nancy insists on getting your attention. She sits next to you, and takes your hands. You put your hands away as if she were burning you. Still firm, it suggests you were going to live with her but you refused. You weren’t going to betray your father. Not when he watched over you when he could just leave you. Not when he gave you his last name when your mother took it from Takeru.

"I know I'm not a mother to you," Nancy says, and her face break from tears. "But I still love you. You're still my son, Yamato."

She hugs you, with strength and love, but you already feel it too late. You don't know what to say her.

"I'm sorry, I’m not moving in" you affirm and it's your last word.

Nor did you let Takeru go into that residence, even though he insisted to the point of exhaustion. It wasn’t personal, but those walls had the essence of Hiroashi, even though it didn’t leave too many traces on it.

It was he who put you into music, even if the world didn’t know. It was perhaps out of regret or guilt that he gave you an instrument to have something to do in that solitude that he could not supply.

It was Hiroashi who introduced you to some artists, who had come on TV and thrown you into stardom. It was he who gave you a dream that you were now fulfilling. And now he was gone. He was never there and you don’t know why miss him so much.

You walk to his room that was still the way he left it, you lean against the door frame watching; some sock thrown under the bed, discarded sheets, a tie thrown on the carpet. The air of abandonment is felt in the atmosphere. Your friends had offered to help you with the apartment, but once again you refused.

Memories come to your head, so lethal that your eyes prepare for tears but they don't come out. They keep leaving you. Beyond is his open closet, should you do something with his clothes? Donate it, maybe? Do you hope to use it someday?

Surround the bed and you look at the bureau, there is an open blister with a few watered pills. You take it with interest, reading the name behind it. They’re antidepressants. So, your father had a vice.

Snorted, you take out two and swallow them without water.The rest you put in your pocket where the touch of the cloth on your knuckles wrinkles your lips in a grimace, reminding you of previous wounds.

Closed your fist and your swollen and swollen knuckles make you remember your fight against the wall. Had to download yourself with something, and something solid that made your fingers crap was your closest option to calm down. You light another cigarette, trying to control the tremor in your hands as a result of anxiety. You take other pills to outwit the persistent pain of your head and lie on the furniture. The pain refuses to go away, turning all sight and hearing activity into a torment. The memory of the lukewarm, insipid endurance of the so-called good days seems distant.

Clenched your fist against your eyes, as if you wanted to placate it without getting any results. Your right hand falls out letting the cigarette burn out just as you do it inside, and use the other hand to introduce it in your right pocket. There is something inside; that weighs too much on your conscience and your actions.

Squeezed it with frustration because you've let it take ground inside you. Make you your slave. You have it there, because you know that without it you feel unarmed and fragile. Feel that he makes fun of you and you decide to plant his face. You take it up to your sight to see that little wrapper with a damn pale dust inside.

You look at him uneasily but it’s the only medicine that works. You lock it in your fist and put it in your pocket again. You will not go to him again. Get up again, throw the cigarette in the trash and run in search of your bass, it’s your first defense mechanism against it. Sometimes the desire for drugs was almost overwhelming, stronger than the desire for food, for water or air. Too strong to fight it.

Your music makes you forget, it calls you to the memory and the feelings that you hide in your songs. You start playing the instrument, ignoring the pain of your knuckles, trying to forget that you can eliminate everything again. You just have to take it out of your pocket. You have it at your fingertips, you can take it out and try a little…

No. Not again.

A twinge pierced you as the need for the drug increased and you must close your eyes to resist. You started in that world for fun, now, it’s a hardship with which you fight every day. That’s why you’ve walked away from your friends, your family, because you don’t want them to know what’s consuming you.

No one knew what you were fighting against addiction, and you didn’t want them to see it. Most of those who began to test it with you have seared their nerves, rejoicing their spirit, believing them indomitable; but exhausting their hearts. You don’t want to end up like this.

Gasping for breath, you stop for a moment. You clench your fists and throw the instrument aside. It doesn’t work. You need to get distracted or you’ll do it again.

The feeling of the drug running through your veins, you still remember, igniting blood like fire from gunpowder. It helps you forget. It’s a high price you’re paying in a desperate attempt to escape your fears.

The door to the entrance creaks, you look up suddenly because you forgot to close it as soon as you came in, and a head with ruffled hair shades you.

"Wow! Is this the garbage dump of the city?", says Taichi with a suitcase hanging from his shoulder, taking off his shoes on the landing.

The joke isn't funny for you, you are too restless and for some reason you are glad that one person makes you abandon the idea you were already considering. Taichi realizes and the smile on his face disappears. You close your eyes so you don’t see that transition. You’re sick of pity.

"Hey, I just wanted to make a joke”, he adds, on his face there are drops of guilt. You elude them with a gesture.

"There’s nothing going on. I must send to clean", you answer, trying to control your breathing that, miraculously, you do.

You heard him coming, the scant light bouncing off the walls illuminated him with a golden halo. Taichi joins you in the furniture, sporting an improved aspect of what you remember. He’s cleaned up and he smells like soap. The hair is still dripping from the wet and his clothes are a little wrinkled.

_ Do you have the shirt upside down, Tai?_

In turn, you realize that his back is a little wider, and his arms have fixed lines that divide his muscles. He looks more attractive. Brighter. You struggle with the thought of wanting to touch him.

A silence passes, one minute, maybe two, and you hear the hands of the clock hanging on the wall. A sound you’ve become familiar with. You drop into the furniture and sigh enervated. The anxieties return as an overwhelming wave that you feel you want to scream.

_Control yourself, Yamato._

"Are you all right? You look sick", Taichi’s voice rescues you from the descent.

You shake your head, and sit back down. Your restlessness is almost palpable.

"I’m taking antidepressant pills. The side effect is not pleasant."

Taichi nods. He wants to tell you something, open his mouth but the words don’t come out. Shake his head and try again.

"How are you doing?", It doesn’t have to be specific and you appreciate it not being specific.

Lies. You want to lie. Your mind kept on tiptoe along the frontier of consciousness.

"It's hard", you answer, have a tick in your foot to keep you grounded. "I miss him"

Taichi nods again. Sigh, and talk one more time.

"The boys miss you; Sora, Mimi, Takeru...", he reveals, and lets the sentence go when you don't respond. Your frown frowning, you don't want to talk about it, and Taichi knows it.

Instead, Taichi adds:

"Do you want some water? Maybe that calms you down."

"I'm fine," you refuse their concern, taking long breaths.

Without being convinced, he looks at you, the disgust was written on his face. You start to relax and he waits patiently. Your chest goes up and down because of the strong palpitations that hurt you.

Time slipped heavy, you forget it for when you feel more calm and in control. A exhaustion has fallen upon your energies and is sufficient for the longing for the thirst of your veins to be mitigated.

"Better?", Taichi wants to know.

"Yeah", you take a breath of air and moisten your lips to give yourself enough strength to speak. Without looking away, letting out the question that floats between the two from the beginning. "What are you doing here, by the way?"

"I can't?"

Making it clear that this rhetoric doesn't satisfy your question, you raise an eyebrow, and Taichi understands. He rolls his eyes, frowning.

"I wanted to see you, that's all. I didn't know you were here”, he says, shrugging. "Daisuke told me he saw you."

_Ah._ It makes you funny that that name comes up. You say nothing, you blink slowly, and you forget for a few seconds through the orbits of your thoughts.

"His reaction was funny, because he apparently had no intention of telling me", Tai tries to extend the conversation that only he is engaging. "What do you think of the game? Did you see the pass I gave?"

You nod, and lift one shoulder by inertia.

"I saw it", Sport isn't your thing and not of interest to you. "Congratulations on your victory"

There isn't emotion to accompany your words. Silence falls between both. They stayed like that, for a while, hearing outside sounds. It's Taichi, once again, who breaks it with an exclamation when you take a tuft that falls on your face behind your ear. You have long hair, months without cutting it has caused that touch your neck.

"Yamato! Your knuckles ...!", he exclaims, realizing your wounds. You curse internally. You should have worn gloves and at the station no one would consider it strange. "What happened?! Are you okay?!"

Take your hands by instinct. You want to lower your shirt sleeves to hide your wrists so you don't see your scars, but Taichi forces you to face them. It forces you to see, to see what you have done to those tools that are your livelihood.

The record company still doesn't throw you into the street because you continue creating blockbuster songs; the band supports you because you are their leader and the only vocalist; the public still loves you because you sing fucking fine. Although you don't know how much.

Taichi keeps taking your hands and doesn't let you get them back.

"Taichi," you say his name in warning mode. He stands firm, you see it in his eyes and he won't let you go to good one.

"Damn, look at that," he reproaches you, and you're still silent. "Is pain a strange pleasure for you?"

That, unexpectedly, makes you smile. He knows that you have resorted, since your father's death, to inflicting harm on yourself to distract you. You've made horizontal cuts in the veins to fiddle with the stinging and since then you keep a blade in your boot. No cut has been lethal, you aren't so brave to venture to know death and suffer along the way.

Taichi turn your wrists, as if reading your thoughts and there they are. Pale lines that furrow your skin. Taichi doesn't like to see them and he does it to remind himself of what you've become. He drops your hands a second, while turning to look for something in his sports suitcase that you don't know.

He gets it and extracts it calmly, letting you see that it's a spray. Your eyebrows wrinkle once more, and the question is drawn in your face.

Taichi laughs.

"It's what I use for when I have lesions," he clarifies, taking one of your hands carefully. If he notices the tremor in your hands, it says nothing. "It's to deflate."

Spray a little on the knuckles and you have to drown a groan.

"Yes, burn a little."

"A little?!", you claim. "Don't throw that at me..."

You don't finish the sentence, when he presses the spray on your wounds again. You curse out loud, and Taichi holds your hands so you don't get away. You want to kill him; you want to do it when the pain spreads all over your arm that leaves you blank.

And, on realizing, isn't that what you always do? Resort to pain to distract yourself. The tingling makes you hide in the darkness behind the eyelids and Taichi's name escapes you in a gasp. He watched you with surprise and then seemed to compose himself. Taichi covered some scratches with bandits and bruises are not easy to hide.

"Can you play like that?", he asks as soon as he has healed you.

You shrug your shoulders in an ambiguous statement. You look at your hands, and that is when you realize that Tai still doesn't let go. He has them, like fragile twigs.

"I like them," Taichi adds, brushing them with his thumb. The friction causes itching that you have to let go of the grip. Aware of what he said, Taichi cleared his throat and laughed. "I mean, you have beautiful hands."

That breaks the bubble and you come back to reality. You get up from the furniture in a jump, reminding you that he shouldn’t be there and you are allowing it. You're weak and that bothers you, because you don't want to tell him to go. You’d rather he go out disgusted himself, than have to tell him.

You go to the kitchen, walk to the fridge and open it without interest. You take out a beer, your other defense of cheating your mind with narcotics of another kind. You don’t offer to him, only you drink when the day is just beginning and you don’t want to do that to an athlete who has a splendid future ahead. Tai disapproves of your behavior, but doesn't tell you anything. Years of silence and you can only see the reluctance in their eyes.

_"If you don't like it, tell me_", you want to tell him._ "You have that power and you don't know it."_

"When was the last time you ate something decent?"

The question comes from the living room and you take some time, before the words slide acidic on your tongue

"I know how to cook, Taichi, stop looking like a mother", you answer, looking up what you have to make breakfast. Most of the food is expired and the rotten smell is mitigated by the cold. You sigh resigned. You forgot you were away for almost six months.

"I'll go buy some things," you announce, taking the keys and shaking your hair. Again, it falls on your face, but don't care.

To Taichi yes. It stops you with one hand on your chest and you automatically frown in protection mode. He ignores you, as always, rummaging through his pants pockets, discovering a cardboard package.

"Take it, I bought it for you" Taichi extends it and curiosity takes hold of you as you focus your gaze.

"Hairpins?", asked, skeptic. Laughter escapes from your friend’s mouth, massaging his head. You realize you’ve been on the defensive unnecessarily and you decide to lower them. "Why hairpins?"

Taichi steals you a little smile, he still has that power in you.

"I bought it a few weeks ago", he admits, opening the wrapper. "I saw a few videos where you sang and the hair seemed to bother you but not so much to cut it."

You don’t know whether to be surprised by the fact that Taichi was able to blend in on social media to follow your tour, or the fact that he must have gotten into a women’s store to buy you that. All for you. Your heart begins to betray you.

Taichi took out the little hairpins, they were gold and had no accessories, while threatening you with the closeness of his face, adjusting that blond column behind the brooch.

His breath grazes your cheek and you lower your head so that he does not perceive the tobacco breath emanating from you.

"I think it goes like this. They’re almost the color of your hair, it will not be noticed" He says at the end, satisfied. "You look good."

The gesture seems warm and you nod. Light pressure is uncomfortable but you can get used to it. You always do it.

"Thank you, Tai," you whisper, looking down at what Taichi had done. The hands, your hair, the insignificant gesture of running meters to come towards you. Your grateful look makes up for your words, and the effect seems to be too much, because your friend hugs you tightly.

"Shit, Yamato," he murmurs against your ear. "I missed you so much."

The contact surprises you, but you don't reject it. All this time you’ve done everything you could to get away from him, ever since you made the decision to visit the underworld because you don’t want him to look at you with disgust. With repulsion. You wouldn’t stand it. Not from him.

You don't want to see how the blue of your eyes is lost, when the pupils dilate. You don't want to see how you sleep with the one who passes by at the moment. You would not bear to see the rejection in his eyes when your personality writhes. And the worst, you don't want him to see that the drug is the only thing that can silence your pain and hopelessness.

Depressive pills are in your right pocket, that little white powder bag ... hidden in the other. You raise your hands trembling and hold his back. What you are going to say may compromise you, may undress you in the need to ask Taichi to stay; but you abstain. You swore to yourself that you would cease to be an impediment to him. Your presence only hindered his steps. Your feelings meant nothing and forgiveness was just a word. They had made it clear to you, but now, honestly, you don’t give a shit. You were also selfish and an idiot. And that gives you the strength to say:

“Me too”

You lean a few moments on it, your cheek rests on his shoulder. You feel like featherweight that not even pills, drugs and cuts can make. The hug cannot be eternal, you know, and it’s time to step aside.

"We're going to eat something, Ishida." Taichi says, smiling.

"Don't give me orders, Yagami" you reply, smiling back.

He accompanied you all morning and a little in the afternoon, talking about anything he could think of. Making you bother in some cases, laugh in others. You had forgotten what it was like to have a true friend, a friend who had no interest in your fame. The fame that have given you black wings.

However, of course, he cannot stay too long. He also has things to do. They strolled together until the sunset appears and you accompany it to the crossroads that divides its paths.

"Do you want to come to dinner?" He suggests. "My mom wants to see you too."

You squint and promise to go soon, your lack of sincerity tasted like nausea. Taichi accepts that answer for now, already saying goodbye. Before he leaves, he surprises you by hugging you by the shoulders again.

"Thank you for coming to the game, you're the only person who wanted me to be there."

It’s the first time in a long time that someone has devoted true affection to you and you almost got overwhelmed.

"You are very emotional today," you joke, squeezing it a little.

Taichi laugh again and hit you on the shoulder.

"I see you tomorrow"

He wants to stay close to you… You soften the look. Why keep it away? Because of your fear of being discovered? Or because others believe you are not healthy for Taichi?

You smile in affirmation and then you leave. You buy some scraps to fill the emptiness of the stomach, where you only taste some snacks. You’re not hungry, actually. The presence of Taichi distracted you and made you leave that dependence aside even though you felt you were burning inside.

You can't sleep, struggling once more with anxiety. There’s a beep in your ears, you feel that the head is going to explode and you have tremors all over your body. Taichi didn’t notice and you are so grateful that you just laugh like a maniac.

Without Taichi, you don't have the strength to keep fighting. The bad voices come back. There is only one thing that can silence it, and you resign yourself to dropping yourself once more.

Leave your home once more, going into the night with a gloomy air and marked objective. The looks were suspicious and the streets smelled of a silence that felt in the stomach. You visit the bar where you are from the house and most know you. Half admires you, the other hates you. You meet a band member who struggles with the same thing as you and, that night, it seems, they both lost.

They congregate with another group of smokers, sharing comments as they ingest that sin that is capable of provoking your sleep in some way.

If you had known that the heroin that entered your bloodstream, mingling with the other crap that you had already ingested, that promised you to shut you up forever, perhaps you would have thought about it. If you had known that that afternoon with Taichi could be the last, you would have spent more time with him. If you had known that the last thing you would hear were sirens, maybe..., you would have stayed at home. If you had... No, you knew, because there you are. Because there was something seductive about pushing life to the edge, where many have gone and few have returned.

Maybe you see your father, maybe not. You only know that now that your eyes close and the pain disappears. Why did you fear death before? You even think that now everything makes sense. You smile and let the tears finally fall. It’s your first time crying. The tears go in the name of Taichi, for your father's, for not being strong enough to keep them both; because, despite everything, you feel happy.

At least, you got the peace you wanted. Some dreams were hiding in the dark and you just found yours.

_To be continue_

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have three parts.


End file.
